by Linda Aksomitis

Trail Boss Bill Tankersley leads the pack across Cumberland Gap River in Kentucky.

The Cumberland River was wide-a ten-lane highway dividing a wilderness of granite and the Daniel Boone National Forest. Crystal clear, the water rushed forward catching in swirls and small rapids that glistened in the bright afternoon sunshine. The trail boss, Bill, let his horse pick her way between the rocks and choose a spot to cross.

His arm waved us forward. "Wait until I'm across, then head out. Keep your eyes on the me on the other side. Don't look down or you'll get dizzy. Keep your horses out of the rapids, where it's safe."

The instructions seemed simple enough but my heart was in my throat anyway. Images of Billy Crystal in City Slickers, riding into the water and nearly being swept away filled my mind. I wasn't a city slicker-far from it, but where I was from the biggest river we could boast was not more than a trickle compared to this rushing beast.

Bill's horse stepped into the water. At least it wasn't deep where he crossed, reaching not as high as his stirrups. The horse sidestepped, like it wanted to walk with the flowing current instead of horizontal to it. Finally he waved, and the first of us guided our horses to the water's edge.

So far Edith, the Tennessee Walking Horse I was riding, hadn't shown a real love for the water. In fact it seemed to me she deliberately raced up to every puddle so she could jump over it and not get her feet wet. This was a different story. It didn't take much encouragement to get her to step into the Cumberland. I envied her bravery.

Bill was right. Looking down into the water definitely made me dizzy-I immediately focused on the tree-lined shoreline opposite me and shook my head. I quickly discovered the big challenge was keeping Edith and I from both ending up in the rapids. Since I'd already been whitewater rafting I knew even those small ones were something to avoid at all costs!

"Come on Edith," I yelled, over the roar of rushing water. I tightened the reins and guided her further to the right, but the rapids were perilously close on our left. Nearby I heard a shout, and turned to see Cathy's horse step down between the rocks, so water came up over its belly. Keeping its feet well under it, the horse made its way back to the safe part of the crossing.

The shore was close. "Come on Edith," I said, "lets go girl. Just a little further." (CONTINUE...)